A Delay of Moments
by Sophie Rae
Summary: This is a fanciful little what-if starting at the Lambton Inn when Darcy happens upon Elizabeth. What if she had not yet opened Jane's letter? What if Darcy had found a happy, none-the-wiser-about-her-foolhardy-sister Elizabeth instead of the sobbing, distraught one from the original text? Possible one-shot that now seems likely to balloon into something longer.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: I was in the middle of writing this scene for a different story, when this idea struck me and I had to get it out. I hope you enjoy. I thought this might be a one-shot, but now I am not certain._

Elizabeth Bennet slowly untied her bonnet, distracted by her sister Jane's messy scrawl on the top-most envelope in the stack of letters. It was no wonder that the letter had been misdirected before arriving at the proper address. The penmanship was so indecipherable, Elizabeth wondered how the post-master had at last decided to send it onward to the Lambton Inn.

"He must be some kind of prophet," she mused. Her bonnet's ribbons glided through her fingers as she imagined what a post-man prophet might look like. Smiling at her funny fancy, she set her bonnet aside and picked up the illegible letter, hopeful that the contents proved more decipherable than the exterior.

On a whim, she paused before opening the envelope, touching the paper to her nose to discover if some remnant scent of Longbourn yet clung to the letter. It was an odd thing to do, she knew, but the imperfection of the writing had made her a touch homesick—an odd thing to feel, she knew. Here, beyond the stuffy walls of this unremarkable inn, sprawled a lush and dramatic landscape, a rolling, peaked, wooded corner of England that inspired a sense of wonder in her soul. But home, with all its imperfections, was nevertheless home. The impulse delayed her pleasure in reading her sister's news for mere moments. It was nothing, a trifling flutter of nostalgia. Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner would not return from their walk for a good hour. There was time enough to indulge in a bit of sentimental foolery.

Elizabeth hummed as she sashayed to a nearby chair. She took care to smooth her skirts and hair—and brush the needlework from the chair before she sat down. Only yesterday she had watched her uncle forget to take such care and suffer the consequence of a sharp needle in the backside for his negligence. It was one of the only two times her uncle had raised his voice in her presence. (The other occasion had been the result of a carriage wheel running over his foot, when his sister—Elizabeth's mother—had distracted her brother by yelling out of the rolling, cursed carriage.)

Smiling again, Elizabeth broke the envelope's seal. Her fingers slipped beneath the folds of the parchment and she was on the point of removing the letter, when her uncle's man-servant suddenly opened the door and announced that she had a visitor. The man-servant bowed himself out the door. Instinctively she slipped the unread letter back into the envelope and watched as Mr. Darcy walked into the room.

She was not stunned by his appearance, the shock of spying him at Pemberley that first day of her visit in Derbyshire would never be replicated, not if she lived a thousand years more, but she was still _surprised_ by his visit. He apologized for his intrusion and stated that he had assumed the Gardiners would be present to receive him as well.

"My aunt and uncle decided to go for a walk this morning," she replied, warm in the cheeks. "They left but minutes ago."

"And you remained behind to read your correspondence," Mr. Darcy supplied, nodding to the envelope resting on her lap.

Elizabeth glanced down at the letter, noticing once more the uncharacteristically sloppy writing of her sister. It seemed likely that the misstep was due to the exuberance of her young cousins, possibly the enthusiasm of her younger sisters. It was not in the nature of Jane to be so careless, quite the opposite. Jane was the very embodiment of care. Regardless of the novelty that this letter promised, Elizabeth thought looking back up at her gentleman caller, now was not the hour to discover its secrets. She smiled politely at her visitor and placed the letter on the table beside her chair.

"It is a letter from my sister—nothing which demands my immediate attention. Please do sit down." Elizabeth felt another rush of a flush on her face. She watched Mr. Darcy hesitate for a moment and choose the chair nearest to her. A false breeze blew across her face as he settled into the chair. She smelled the resinous scent of trees and horses and leather, and something sharply pleasant, like peppermint. He was near enough to her that the heat from his body radiated over her skin and she could perceive the glisten of perspiration across his upper lip. Her aunt had been right; there was something pleasant about his mouth.

"I apologize again for my interruption," he repeated. "I called with the express purpose of asking if I could show you and your traveling companions some of the less-known attractions of Derbyshire. There is a view not far from the inn—no more than a twenty-minute ride, in fact—which I thought you, in particular Miss Bennet, would appreciate. I wished to offer myself as your guide, before my sister and I could welcome you again to Pemberley later today."

Elizabeth took a moment to respond, struck again by the alteration in the gentleman's behavior. Mere months ago, she could never have envisioned this scenario, the strangeness of it significantly less than the oddity of a prophetic post-master. Mr. Darcy stared at her, his steady gaze inflaming the blush on her skin. A different kind of awe overcame her as she wryly wondered if his partiality had always been this blatant. _He_ certainly had been blind to her dislike—her _former_ dislike, she amended-but she had been equally and stubbornly ignorant about his admiration. She was no longer recklessly in the dark in that regard, not about his feelings. Where her own feelings resided, she could not definitively declare, but a suspicion of their general direction dropped her heart somewhere in the region of her abdomen and thrilled her blood with a chill.

"That is very thoughtful of you Mr. Darcy," she said to break the stifling awkwardness. "I believe my aunt had some similar idea on how to pass the time this morning and arranged to meet with one of her friends during her walk. I regretfully must decline, for I believe we will be otherwise engaged for the afternoon, but we look forward to seeing you for dinner."

Mr. Darcy merely nodded, his deep eyes boring through her. His distraction was as evident as his attraction. His foot tapped nervously on the floor and his fingers danced against his thumbs, as though playing a swift melody on the piano. With a rising panic, Elizabeth wondered if he was going to throw pretense into the wind and say one of the many unspoken words which hung in the air between them.

"Have you enjoyed your time in Derbyshire?' he asked after a moment, sitting back.

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. "I have, very much. Thank you."

He nodded again, clearly still agitated, and that panic in her chest started to rise. He noticed her growing discomfort, and leaning slightly closer to her said, "I feel as if I am doomed to assail you with apologies this morning, Miss Bennet. You are too perceptive, I fear. I had other intentions in calling this morning, I do not wish to alarm you, but I could not miss the opportunity—the possible opportunity—to thank you for the kindness and discretion which you showed toward my sister yesterday morning. She remarked to me last night how, despite your relatively new acquaintance, she already feels how deeply she can trust you."

Elizabeth was rendered speechless by this complimentary confession. She had no idea that her words yesterday to redirect the conversation away from Mr. Wickham would have produced such an effect and never imagined that they would become a subject to discuss between Mr. Darcy and his sister. She blushed, as much as for the way her counterpart had uttered the words as what those words had been. He smiled at her again, and she smiled in return, unable to do anything but reciprocate such a genuine expression of contentment.

At length, she cleared her throat and her visitor loudly exhaled.

"I look forward to becoming closer acquainted with your sister," she managed to say. He mumbled his sister's similar hopes. She noticed his foot shaking slightly again and his fingers gliding along the hat brim he held between his hands. She feared the pair of them would fall into another extended period of heavy silence. Every topic that came to her mind had some ulterior significance attached to it, the air between them palpable with the thickness of these double-talk subjects and unsaid things. She could not settle on what to say to Mr. Darcy. She was even further away from settling on how she felt about him. And as he continued to stare at her with that look, she felt herself completely unequal to the task.

"Do you often travel with your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner?"

"I often visit with them, but we have always stayed in London."

"Perhaps when next you visit them, my sister may call on you. She is at school in London. I might have occasion to accompany her from time to time."

Elizabeth could not disguise her astonishment that Mr. Darcy—the very same Mr. Darcy who not two months ago had expressed his reluctance and distaste at associating with her family—was now declaring that he would willingly, in fact, happily seek out a closer acquaintance with her kin. To be true, Elizabeth was not ignorant of the fact that her aunt and uncle each possessed both a temperament and an intellect more equal and palatable to a gentleman such as he was. Nevertheless, the shift in her visitor's sentiments were great enough to reveal themselves upon her fair countenance, her mouth errantly dropping open into a wordless oval of shock. Staring at her as he was, the source of her surprise could not help but take notice. That nervous energy completely fell to the wayside and scooting his chair closer, he said:

"If I am by my words or actions giving you pause to reconsider your opinion of me, please do not hesitate to tell me that I might have reason to hope for such a change of mind. I am not foolish enough to dare hope for a change in your heart—despite the constancy of the wishes of my own heart."

Elizabeth's astonishment overwhelmed her, and she had to look away, her fine lashes batting downward and her gaze resting on the letter beside her. Jane's messy scrawl struck her anew. How uncommon. How singular. How very unexpected. Just as this moment was. And just as this moment—Elizabeth knew that she had answer with care. She thought of a different letter, and of how much change a single sheet of paper could portend.

"There is no need to hope, Mr. Darcy," she began, finding her voice and in the finding of it, discovering her mind. She turned her bright eyes on her visitor. He had leaned away, but his gaze pierced through her with a sharp sweetness. She smiled softly. "For you cannot hope for that which you already possess. I have undergone a turning of opinion. Not merely from your kindness and generosity displayed these last couple days, but by your own words in the letter which you gave to me before leaving Kent. My mind is quite changed where you are concerned."

"And what of your heart?" he asked quietly.

Blushing still more, Elizabeth willed herself to reply. "I feel that it may very soon be yours as well, Mr. Darcy."

The intensity of his gaze somehow increased, an indefinable light distilling over his expression. Elizabeth once more could not bear the strength of his regard and cast her eyes about the room. Her thoughts whirled with the wonder of the last several minutes, the tenderness of the exchange softened by the suddenness of these declarations. She heard him lean closer, the scent of leather and mint wafting toward her.

"Declare the hour, nay the minute, when and if that precious heart is mine, and from that moment know that my hand, my home, my name and my life are yours."

He sighed, and the warmth of his breath blew across her face. She looked up, fighting the urge to shrink from his nearness. He smiled at her, and she smiled at him. His deep eyes roved over her face, resting on her lips. Although she had never been kissed before, she could sense—she could see—the direction of his desires. She was not ready for that novelty, and knowing that if she did not soon say something, she would be unable (and unwilling) to redirect his intentions.

"Your home is mine? I may need to reconsider things for a third time. I am sure I spotted a speck of dust during the tour."

"I know you are teasing, but I can scarcely believe you are not trifling with me."

The playful, brave grin on Elizabeth's face transformed into lines of concern. She would remember that he was a serious man, and in need of her laughter, but right now, she appreciated that he required her sincerity.

"I have and always will tease you, but I never have and never will trifle with you, Mr—"

"Fitzwilliam. Call me Fitzwilliam."

"Fitzwilliam."

His name hung there in the small space between them, with the same thickness as all those words which they had not uttered, but with an added heat, a fresh spark. He leaned closer, his head tilting and his hand sliding against her cheek. She did not speak up or shudder at his touch, but closing her eyes, anticipated the sweetness of his kiss.

His lips touched hers, soft and hesitating. She wanted to reassure, to fill the void of the previous months and the heartbreak of their misunderstanding. But this was a new dance for her to learn. She pressed her mouth deeper against his, matching his movements and mirroring his rhythm, unsure of herself. He must not have expected her delicate encouragement, for his lips stilled and a sigh escaped. Elizabeth was about to pull away and open her eyes, when his hand suddenly slipped from her cheek to the nape of her neck and his lips swiftly returned to hers. There was no hesitancy now, no hushed, fragile interlude or form of conversation; this was fire and flame and light. His mouth demanded and her lips delivered. She became lost in the spell of his energy, warmed by the force of his love.

Somehow at some point, that hand massaging her neck floated away and those aching, sweet lips pulled back. She inhaled and opened her eyes, amazed that the room had not transformed into a faraway paradise and the man sitting beside her had not transfigured into a mythic deity. Catching her breath, she smiled shyly at her perfectly English gentleman caller, and he smiled shyly at her. It comforted her that his cheeks were aflame, sensing that her own must be as red with bewildered desire.

"Forgive me," he said. "I confess I was swept away by the moment."

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. She could taste him still. She took a few steadying breaths and primly pleated her skirts. In a voice she hardly knew how to define, he asked if she was offended by him. As was her wont, she turned to humor to save her from any awkwardness.

"Despite your talents of persuasion, sir, I must insist on inspecting that speck of dust before any more attempts to compel me otherwise."

He laughed, in a way she had not heard before. "I will alert my staff of your exacting standards, and conduct the tour myself."

"I fear that is a faulty idea."

"You would rather Mrs. Reynolds be your guide again?"

"I would rather not have to combat your powers of persuasion when making my inspection," she daringly teased, continuing to brush her skirts with fastidious attention.

"I will not surrender them. You must know by now that I am utterly powerless where you are concerned, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."

At the mention of her name, Elizabeth stopped smoothing her dress. Somehow the sound of her name on his lips was as endearing and intimate as the feel of his lips had been. She did not know how to reply and was spared the trouble of articulating the wild happiness of her feelings by the abrupt entrance of her aunt and uncle.

They bustled in chatting merrily, surprised by their unintended intrusion and vocal in their astonishment. Elizabeth could not quite meet her aunt's eye when she pressed them on how long they had been enjoying their quaint tête-à-tête. She could barely meet their guest's eye either when he soon politely excused himself and declared his anticipation for their arrival for dinner. More and more uncomfortable by the growing awareness in her uncle's expression and the curious keenness of her aunt, Elizabeth excused herself to her room by explaining that she really must read Jane's letter before they departed for their afternoon excursions. The Gardiners gave her leave, and she sped into her bed chamber, swiping the letters off both tables.

Closing the door behind her, Elizabeth pressed the stack of envelopes against her chest. The pounding of her heart beat against the folds of paper. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and grinned at herself. Then, with a hum on her lips, she opened her eyes, picked that letter with the dismal handwriting from the top of the stack, and tossing the remaining letters onto the bed, tore open the envelope.

 _Note: Let me know what you think. I kind of like it as a sweet little what-if lead off… And if you are curious, I plan on posting my other story here as I am writing it (the one that led to this flight of fancy). It's the second part of the book I just published on Amazon. It's P &P as told by Darcy "Bored and Bewitched". I didn't post the first part here, but I decided I wanted to post the second part as I am finishing writing it to share and get some feedback. Thanks for any reviews on this one. It may very well be at least a two-parter. What do you think? _

_(And I'll be posting the other story (P &P from Darcy's POV) starting after the Turkey Day Weekend. Again, you can check out the first volume on Amazon or I will post the first and last chapter of that story in with the sequel that I'll start posting chapters to soon. Which by the way, Happy Thanksgiving to all, regardless of your home or adopted nation. It's a beautiful day to say thank you, and I know I am thankful for readers who enjoy my writing and writers who share. Cheers.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: So I am not certain how far this will go. But here is another installment. I also posted a chapter in my other story (Bared and Beloved), which I will do daily this week. Happy reading. Thanks for the reviews and let me know what you think._

Elizabeth stood in the center of the small inn bedroom, letters and envelopes strewn round about the floor. One letter remained in her shaking fingertips, hung limp and quivering at her side. The news of Lydia's elopement with Wickham had shocked her into a silent frenzy only moments ago. She had read that first letter, her humor at Jane's inconsequential musings sinking into horror as her sister's letter shifted from delightsome to dreadful. In a panic, she had leapt over to the bed, tossing the other envelopes to the ground in her hunt for the second letter from Jane. She had read that letter in a sickening haste, wanting to scream, unable to catch her breath, and rendered nearly motionless by the impending doom to her family which the reckless folly of her youngest sister had unleashed. How long ago she had finished reading that second letter, she could not say. Time seemed irrelevant right now—and yet—of the most significance.

"Aunt! Uncle!" she managed to scream at last, rushing from the bed chamber, her skirts sweeping over the letters as a flurry of rustles. She marched into the center of the sitting room, swiveling her gaze between her aunt and uncle. "We must leave this very minute."

The Gardiners rose from their chairs, their expressions pale and shocked.

"What is the matter, my dear girl?" Mr. Gardiner cried.

Elizabeth shook her head, sorrow surging over her once more, and waved the letter at her uncle. "Read this," she pleaded, tears sprouting from the corner of her eyes. "And tell me how it is possible that we are not ruined."

Mr. Gardiner swiped the letter from his niece's hand and began swiftly muttering out loud the contents of the letter. His wife hurried to his side, her eyes skimming the words. Wretched and weeping, Elizabeth watched the faces of her relatives blanche even whiter, their eyes bulge even wider, as they read the ghastly history. At length, her uncle stopped his soft mumbles, and her aunt, with hand on heart, dropped back down into her chair.

"Eloped?" Mrs. Gardiner whispered. "Lydia has eloped with Mr. Wickham?"

"It appears so, my darling," her husband replied. He blew out his breath, his gaze lingering on the page in his hand. "But it does not seem likely that any vows have taken place. How shocking. How terribly shocking."

"It is terrible," Elizabeth said, her voice thick. "But it is not all together shocking."

She smeared the wet from her cheeks. Something about watching the horror overwhelm the expressions of her aunt and uncle motivated her into action. She would not spend one more instant in despair. She knew her aunt and uncle would likewise jump into motion any second. Sure enough, the moment her uncle relinquished Jane's letter back into her care, he strode from the room and declared that he would inform the innkeeper of their immediate departure and acquit their account downstairs.

"I shall leave you to arranging the trunks, and send Jon upstairs to be of assistance, my dear." Her uncle paused in the doorway. Casting Elizabeth a cursory glance, he added: "And I shall trust you both to write notes of departure to our friends."

The implication was not lost on Elizabeth. She knew by friends her uncle must be thinking of the particular friend who had departed from their presence only a quarter hour ago. Her heart plummeted to the floor and her knees nearly buckled. Her arms slipped to her sides, that letter dangling once more as a lone, brittle leaf on a barren November bough. _She_ had been too overcome with the turmoil of the revelations to contemplate what specific impact the flight of her foolhardy sister would have in her own relationship with the master of Pemberley but she now understood why her trepidation had been enough to turn her into a noiseless cyclone and a knot of nerves, why she now seemed incapable of lifting her legs.

"I must write him," she said aloud, forgetting even her beloved aunt.

"Write whom?" Mrs. Gardiner asked, already bustling about the room, gathering odds and ends.

"I do not know what I ought to say."

"What to say to whom, Lizzy?"

"To, to—" Elizabeth looked at her aunt, unable to finish the reply. It was not a sudden stupor of thought that deadened her tongue, it was an inability to define exactly what he was to her. She had not actually said yes to his proposal. In truth, he had not actually proposed. Not in so many words, at least. He could escape her ignominy if he chose. Something cold oozed over her at the thought.

"To Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth startled. She had not noticed that her aunt had paused her harried packing and had moved to stand mere inches away from her. Her aunt smiled knowingly at her, her delicate brows raised in expectation.

"Are you engaged to him, my dear?" her aunt asked.

Elizabeth bit her lip and shook her head.

That expectant smile fell away from Mrs. Gardiner's face, replaced by lines of confusion. "You are not engaged? He did not come this morning to ask for your hand?"

Elizabeth shook her head again, but was compelled to speak by the almost-comical wrinkle of bewilderment upon her aunt's kind brow. She spoke her words hesitatingly, seeking the answers as she uttered them.

"He did propose once, but I refused him. Today, he did not ask for my hand, so much as promise his hand—whenever I should feel ready to accept it. But I have not accepted it."

"But you will accept it, Lizzy?"

"I know not how to answer that now."

Her aunt's wrinkle multiplied into bundle of bewildered wrinkles, and Elizabeth laughed, in spite of herself—or their dreary circumstances. She crumpled and tossed the cursed letter into the nearby hearth and clasped her aunt's warm hands in her own.

"Oh, dear, dear Aunt Gardiner. If you are confused by this, do not rely upon me to untangle the mess for you. I am entirely twisted up inside. I know not what I shall write, or what he shall say. I only know that I am honor-bound to release him from all obligation to me. And though I appear on the edge of laughter now in speaking to you, the very thought of never seeing him again shreds my tender soul apart."

"Sweet, Lizzy. Write the truth. If he loves you, as I am certain he does, tell him what has happened. And then, trust in his good heart. If you believe that you are honor-bound to him, surely he must believe himself equally honor-bound to you."

Her aunt smiled at her, stroking her cheek in a gentle mark of encouragement and spun away. Elizabeth wished she could share in her aunt's optimism. But she could not. As good as that man's heart was, it was still a man's heart. She could not expect him to seek her out now, nor would she despise him for sharing with her that kiss. Her lips tingled and her cheeks warmed at the remembrance. She would regret so many things about her past with him, but she would not regret that kiss. It would be her secret treasure, her golden trinket to wear invisibly over heart.

Jon, the manservant, entered the room at that moment and Elizabeth stirred from her inactivity, joining her aunt in her hustle about their chambers. They were whirling dervishes of efficiency, folding and packing and lastly, writing their notes. Her uncle joined them upstairs thereafter, notifying them that the carriage would be ready within a quarter hour. Her Aunt Gardiner handed Elizabeth a blank sheet of paper and a mended pen, assuring her niece that she would conceal her letter in alongside the more formal note of apology that her uncle signed.

"All will be done properly, Lizzy. I would not want to offend him, or his lovely sister. I am determined to return one day to see that beautiful landscape in a phaeton."

Elizabeth accepted her aunt's offering, glad for the plan to obscure the presence of her note in the folds of an expected and respectable letter from her uncle. She slipped into the bed chamber, her hand ready but her heart weak. With a deep sigh, she began to write:

 _As my uncle has explained in his letter, we have been called away unexpectedly by some urgent family business. I write now to divulge more fully the reasons for our sudden departure. As much as it pains me to tell you this, as certain as I am that it will forever alter our relationship, duty, nay deep and sure affection and admiration for you demand that I disclose al to you. The letter which I was on the point of reading from my sister Jane when you called upon me this morning contained some heartbreaking news from home—it confided that my youngest sister, Lydia, had run away with none other than George Wickham. Surprising and undesirable as this news was, a second letter from Jane confirmed that the flight did not end in a marriage. My sister and Mr. Wickham are now assumed to be in London, where my father is presently searching for them. We depart this very hour so that my uncle might join him in his search and offer whatever assistance he may._

 _Please know that I release you of all obligations, and rest assured that I will not claim that which you so humbly and lovingly offered only this morning. I will think no less of you for relinquishing that which might bind us, or that which once promised to bind us together._

 _Always,_

 _E.B._

Elizabeth set down her pen and closed her eyes. A single tear slid down her cheek. The cool, glistening track upon her skin tickled her face. But she knew it would be some time before she could laugh again. She opened her eyes and wiped away the chilly rivulet, eager to put this odd, hurricane day behind her.

"Goodbye, Fitzwilliam," she whispered to the paper as she folded the sheet in half. Instinctively, she pressed her lips against the paper. It would be the last kiss she would ever send to him.

Author's Note: I always think Lizzy is a bit dramatic here (in the original story, and the film adaptations). What do you think?


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